A Man to Be Admired
by jgracetheauthor
Summary: Ensign Pavel Chekov's first day aboard the Enterprise. Is he just another ensign, or can he prove himself to the crew - and more importantly to his hero, Captain James T. Kirk?


A Man to be Admired

or

First Day on the _**Enterprise**_

Captain James T. Kirk was walking down one of the corridors of the _USS Enterprise_ one day, intently focused on studying a repair log, when he perceived vaguely that there was someone standing ahead of him. Looking up, he found his face confronted with a short, young, good-looking man with dark hair and eyes who was grinning broadly at him.

At first he wasn't sure what to say to this. He racked his brain for any instance of having seen the man before, but he felt confident that he hadn't. At last he said the only thing he could think of. "Do I know you?"

"No sir," replied the man, with a thick Russian accent. "At least, I don't think so. I just joined the crew this morning."

"And your name, ensign?" Kirk asked briskly, eyeing the man's insignia.

"Oh, I beg your pardon, sir. Chekov, Pavel Chekov. I am the new navigator."

"Well, then, I suppose I shall be seeing you on the bridge." With a nod that was meant to be kind but was in truth more authoritative, he continued on his way, leaving Chekov, Pavel Chekov, new navigator, to stare after him, still smiling.

"It vas a wery great honor to meet you sir!" the man called after him.

The man didn't cross Kirk's mind again until that evening when he saw him seated next to Mr. Sulu on the bridge. When Kirk stepped out of the turbolift, the little Russian man turned and smiled widely at him again. Kirk nodded back, and sat down. "Warp one, Mr. Sulu."

"Aye sir."

"Sir," came the Russian voice again, "there is an unknown object ahead. Closing to twelve thousand kilometers."

"Spock?" Kirk inquired, and without further instruction the science officer turned to his console and began working to determine the nature of the object, but before he could finish and report his analysis, Mr. Chekov spoke again.

"Sir, judging by the welocity and acceleration curve of the object, I conclude that it is a wessel of some kind."

"A what, Mr. Chekov?" Kirk furrowed his brows in confusion.

"A wessel, Captain. A w-w-wessel. Perhaps a Klingon wessel, judging by the power surge…"

"What space phenomenon do you call a 'wessel,' Mr. Chekov?"

"A w-w-w-vessel," the Russian finally managed to say, not without a look of great effort.

Before Kirk could comment, Spock broke in. "Captain, the navigator is correct in his assumption. According to our scans the object is a Klingon vessel, a bird-of-prey, closing fast."

"Are they indicating a pattern of deliberate approach?"

He had been addressing the question to Spock, but the Russian voice spoke up again. "Yes sir. Closing to five thousand kilometers, should be wisible on screens in a wery few seconds."

As if in answer to his words, a Klingon bird-of-pray became visible on the viewscreen, still far away, but closing fast.

"Should I raise shields, Captain?" Mr. Chekov asked nervously.

"Not yet. Uhura, scan for Klingon vessel and attempt to make contact and determine why they are approaching."

"Captain Kirk, I really think ve should raise our shields as a safety precaution. If they have a hostile intent, vhy, they vill easily…"

"No one asked for your perception of the situation, Ensign," said Kirk quickly. Yes, the man had proved helpful, but he was a mere kid, a rookie. It was the Captain who was in charge, and nobody was going to tell him what to do.

The navigator shrank back slightly, making Kirk feel slightly guilty over his harsh words. But he couldn't worry about that now; he had a job to do and he meant to do it.

"Sir," Uhura announced just then, "transmission is being reflected back. Unable to make contact with the Klingons."

"Keep trying, Uhura. One-half impulse power, Mr. Sulu, and adapt a parabolic course to show that we have no animosity…"

"Captain," Spock's voice broke in urgently, "they are preparing to fire."

Kirk clenched his teeth. "Raise shields, Mr. Chekov. Raise shields!"

Desperately, Mr. Chekov clutched the shield controls, but before he could do anything, a blast from the helm of the Klingon vessel collided with the _Enterprise_, jarring the ship and sending nearly all crew members to the deck.

Mr. Chekov, however, who was still leaning over his console and holding onto the shield controls, let out a cry of pain as sparks emitted from the screen in front of him, and a burst of energy spurted from the console, enveloping his hand in flames.

Kirk struggled up and stumbled over to the man, who was still screaming as he tried to free his hand from the console. Grabbing him around the waist, Kirk pulled with all his might and managed to pull the man away, then he whipped off his own jacket and wrapped it around Mr. Chekov's smoldering sleeve.

"To your stations!" he cried, laying the man down gently. "Mr. Sulu, get us out of here, Uhura, get the medics up here immediately! Spock, see if you can find out the extent of the damage."

Mr. Chekov was still whimpering on the deck where he had been laid, and Kirk leaned over him, feeling immensely guilty. If he hadn't been too proud to accept the ensign's advise, this wouldn't have happened. "It'll be okay, Chekov," he assured, patting the man on the shoulder. "We'll take care of you. You'll be fine."

It occurred to him as the medics carted him away to sick bay that that was the first time he'd dropped the title "Mr." so shortly after meeting a new crew member. He hadn't meant to, it was just that poor Mr. Chekov was in so much pain, and he looked so miserable and so young and Kirk felt so sorry for him.

But he had no time to analyze all this now. The Klingons were in hot pursuit as the _Enterprise _hurried away, and he had to figure out what was going on and how to stop it.

"Sir," Uhura announced, "Commander of Klingon vessel coming in. He says he'll destroy us if it's the last thing he does."

"But, why? Uhura, ask them why they are doing this, and just who they are."

"Sir," Spock announced as Uhura hurried to obey, "my scans are not revealing any life signs on the vessel."

"But that's impossible!" Leaping out of his chair, Kirk looked carefully at Spock's monitor. "Someone must have fired that shot. And Uhura just said…"

"I know. However, our readings indicate negative life aboard the bird-of-prey."

What was to be done next? Spock, Uhura, Sulu and all other bridge crew members were looking at him, looking for guidance. And he just wasn't sure how to give it.

"Any response to inquiries, Uhura?" he finally asked.

"No sir. No nothing."

"Vessel is still pursuing, and closing rapidly," Sulu announced.

In that moment, Kirk found his thoughts turning strangely to the little Russian man again. He appeared so intelligent and insightful. Was it possible that he could provide some solution to this new puzzle?

But no. He didn't need the advice of a child like that. Mr. Chekov seemed smart, yes, but it took experience and a quick wit to get out of problems like these. And everyone would agree that Kirk had more of both of these things than any ensign.

"Scan again, Mr. Spock, and if nothing turns up, examine the equipment to make sure it's working properly. Did you talk with Scotty?"

"Yes, he says that only a few minor systems were affected, and all major functions are still online."

"Good. Mr. Sulu, continue evasive maneuvers, Uhura, keep trying to contact, and Spock, keep working with that equipment. I'm going to go see if I can find any clues as to what's going on."

Stepping into the turbolift, he rode down to sick bay, intending to see how young Mr. Chekov was doing.

He found Bones working frantically away caring for all those who had been injured by the shot. His eyes darted around the room, trying to pick out the form of the Russian man among the many patients. At last he spotted him laying in the far corner of the room.

"What's going on up there, Jim?" Bones asked, somewhat irritably, as Kirk began walking across the room.

"We're being followed by - what appears to be a deserted Klingon ship," Kirk explained with something like a wry smile.

"What? Stop talking in riddles, and tell me…"

"I wish I knew. I came to check on my navigator, Ensign Chekov. How is he?"

"Ensign who?"

"Chekov. Little Russian fellow?"

"Oh yes. He has serious burns, but seems to be alright otherwise."

"Doctor McCoy," came the voice of a nurse from the other side of the room, and Bones had to rush away.

Hurriedly, Kirk walked to where Chekov lay, his eyes half-closed and his arm completely bandaged. When Kirk approached, however, his eyes flew open, and he gave that broad, admiring smile again.

"How's that arm, Mr. Chekov?" Kirk asked kindly.

"Vell, it does hurt of course, but I'm sure it vill be turn out fine. Vhat is going on out there? Did you ever find out vhy the Klingons vere firing on us?"

"That's just it. It appears that there are no Klingons."

"No Klingons?" The ensign's face crinkled in confusion. "But vhat…"

"Mr. Spock has been unable to detect any life readings aboard the vessel. I told him to scan again, possibly the equipment is faulty."

There was a moment of silence - silence between the two of them, though the hustle, bustle and beeping typical of a busy time in sick bay continued. Mr. Chekov appeared to be deep in thought, and after a moment, a hint of a smile reappeared on his face.

"There is vone possibility that comes to mind."

"A possibility? If there were one, why would Mr. Spock not have thought of it?"

"It is not a thought that is likely to occur to a Wulcan."

"A 'wulcan'? What creature do you call a 'wulcan,' Mr. Chekov?"

"A W-W-Wulcan," struggled the younger man. "You know, tall, pointy ears, logical…"

"Oh, a Vulcan. But why not?"

"Because Wulcans are always looking for complex, logical solutions to everything, and sometimes the simple solution ewades them."

"But what _is_ the simple solution, Mr. Chekov?"

"If there do not appear to be any life forms aboard, then perhaps there are no life forms aboard."

"But then who…"

"Yes, there must have been somevone aboard vhen the shot vas fired and the message sent. But there are none now. The crew must have jettisoned just after firing the shot."

"But they are still pursuing."

"They must be tracking us."

"A homing device. Of course! And that would explain their unusual speed. But what could be the purpose behind this? I mean, I understand why they would abandon ship, that way we wouldn't be able to identify them. But why continue following us with the ship? To scare us?"

Chekov's answer was quick and assured. "Abandoning a bird-of-prey would not help a Klingon. Everyone knows those are Klingon ships."

The light suddenly clicked on in Kirk's mind. "Of course!" He snapped his fingers. "It's _not_ the Klingons! They - whoever "they" really are - must have stolen the bird-of-prey hoping to convince us that the Klingons were the ones attacking."

"No doubt trying to start a var," Chekov finished helpfully.

Excited as he was, a look at the ensign's vaguely pained face sobered him, and he said quietly, "Mr. Chekov, I feel that I owe you an apology."

The man's eyes widened, and he stared at Kirk. "_You_ owe _me_ an apology, Captain? But… vhy?"

"On the bridge. If I hadn't been too proud to take your advice and raise the shields, you wouldn't have gotten hurt."

"Please, Captain…"

"No, let me finish. I was irresponsible, and I feel bad about it. I hope you will forgive me."

"If you truly feel that there is anything to forgive, Captain. But if I may say so…"

He paused, and Kirk smiled encouragingly. "Go on."

"I had heard of you long before I came aboard, and that vas vhat made me vant to come here and be a navigator. I vanted to… to be near you. To study you. I vanted to see vhat made you the vay you are, because… I think you are a man to be admired."

Even in the excitement of the moment, Kirk felt touched and even amazed at the simple admiration expressed by the younger man. But he only smiled again, and said, "Thank you, Mr. Chekov." Then he patted Chekov's arm and stood up. "I'd better go see what I can do. Most likely they expect us to destroy the ship, so that we'll assume whoever was on board was killed. You've done a great service, sir. With your help, I think we can prevent an unjust war between man and Klingon."

"I am glad to be of help," was the relatively modest answer, though the grin revealed that the ensign was flattered and pleased beyond words.

"Get well soon, Chekov," Kirk admonished, once again subconsciously dropping the man's title. "See you on the bridge soon, I hope."

"I hope so too sir," agreed Chekov, and Kirk left sick bay.

There was much to be done now. He was going to get Spock to help confirm Chekov's hypothesis - perhaps get Scotty to beam them aboard to have a look at the data banks. Then he'd have to contact Klingon and Federation leadership and put the situation in the hands of the diplomats. His full focus and attention was needed for the next several hours, and again, the little Russian man was almost completely pushed from his mind until they were asked to come immediately back to earth to report, and he turned to give an order to the navigator, only to find the post empty.

"Mr. Sulu, why hasn't the navigator's place been filled?" was his slightly tense question. He was irritated by the whole incident, and would secretly much rather have been in a real fight than all this negotiation.

"I don't know who's available that's qualified, sir."

"Chief Hader."

"Shore leave, remember?"

At that moment, the turbolift doors opened to reveal Mr. Chekov stepping forward slowly. One hand was still bandaged, and his face was a bit pale, but that cheerful smile remained bravely. "Could you use another hand, Captain Kirk?" he asked.

"Navigations console, Mr. Chekov." Kirk couldn't help smiling as he ordered it, and Chekov hurried to his station, expertly manning his console with one hand.

"Warp four, Mr. Sulu."

"Aye, sir."

"Uhura, inform Starfleet command that we are en route to Space Dock, should be there at 0600 hours tomorrow."

"Yes, Captain."

Chekov was still quietly working his station, and as Kirk turned to look at him, he saw with concern that the smile had faded slightly and was replaced with a tired, pained, almost lonely look. Kirk thought he could read the expression. This was his first day on a starship, and it had certainly not been easy. He was wondering - wondering if he would fit in, if he would ever be a real _part_ of the crew, wondering if he could ever be… like Captain Kirk. Again, the thought of being a role model to the young man was somewhat humbling, and frankly, a bit frightening. He felt responsibility now, personal responsibility. For the first time he wondered what it would be like to have a son. Would it be like this? Would it mean a knowledge that someone was watching you, walking in your footsteps, thinking you could do no wrong? Would it mean worrying, hoping he would be alright, that he would grow up into a strong man, feeling proud of his accomplishments?

Yes, others looked up to Kirk. He was the Captain. He was the one in charge, the one who gave the orders, the one everyone had to listen to, whether they liked it or not. Everyone on board knew it. But this, somehow, was different. Mr. Chekov didn't just look up to Kirk. He didn't just respect him. He wanted to _be _him. That was what made this little, smiling man with the strange accent and the quick, adept mind so different and so special. Kirk was his personal hero.

After several minutes of these thoughts and others like them, Kirk turned to Spock with a sage nod. "Mr. Spock, did I happen to tell you that it was Ensign Chekov, our new navigator who realized the truth behind our attack?"

A sidelong glance at Chekov revealed that his grin had returned in full force. He kept his face towards the fore, but he straightened up a little, proudly.

"You did not." Spock turned to the younger man and spoke calmly. "Quick and intelligent thinking, Mr. Chekov. Your logic has surpassed mine in this instance."

"Oh, I don't think so, sir," was the deprecating response, thought the smile widened. "The wector scope had already showed me that something in the flight pattern of the ship vas wery strange. Klingons do not fly that vay."

"The _wector_ scope, Mr. Chekov? May I ask what you mean by this?"

"W-wector," explained Chekov, with a slightly exasperated expression.

"Naturally, Mr. Spock, a vector scope. I would think you would know what that was."

Chekov grinned gratefully.

"So, Chekov, how have you liked your first day on the _Enterprise_?" Kirk clapped the man on the shoulder in a friendly manner. He wanted him to fit in, he wanted him to succeed. That morning he hadn't known the man existed, and now he felt like Chekov was his own, personal protégé.

Without a moment of hesitation, or even a glance at his burned hand, Chekov grinned again, and said, "First rate, sir."

"You have a positive attitude, Ensign," was Spock's approving remark. "That is a valuable asset for a member of this crew."

"Well," Kirk smiled, "Mr. Chekov is a man to be admired."

Never had Kirk seen a man smile as happily as Chekov at that moment.

And so began Pavel Chekov's employment on the _USS Enterprise_, and more importantly, the long-standing friendship between himself, and Captain James T. Kirk.


End file.
